


More Educating the Young Porn

by orphan_account



Series: Educating the Young [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Barebacking, Felching, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unframed, unrepentant, filthy underage porn in Educating the Young 'verse. So that means Arthur is 17, and Eames is... unspecified, but older.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Educating the Young Porn

**Author's Note:**

> This is old and it's unfinished, but it was sitting in my Google Docs with that stupid "In Progress" tag, and it's been niggling at my brain. So to shut it up already, I'm posting it. Exorcism by internet exposure. There's more in this 'verse, with actual outside-the-house dates, real conversations, angsty arguments, and a story arch that leads to canon. But I'm never going to write it, because I'm not sold that it's worth telling. So here's the porn, under whose weight this fic has foundered.
> 
>  **Beta** : I hesitate to tie anyone's name to this unfinished thing, but my great and sincere thanks to the lovely people who looked at it and provided input - [](http://night-reveals.livejournal.com/profile)[**night_reveals**](http://night-reveals.livejournal.com/) , [](http://anamuan.livejournal.com/profile)[**anamuan**](http://anamuan.livejournal.com/). Also thanks to [](http://hungerpunch.livejournal.com/profile)[**hungerpunch**](http://hungerpunch.livejournal.com/) , to whom I sent this as a bad-day balm and who was very kind about it.

#### Tuesday

Arthur lies on his stomach, fucked out and dozy. Eames is between his legs, holding open his arse and assessing. “Oh, love. Your little hole is so tender and red. It looks so sore; look what I’ve done to you.” He touches a finger to it gingerly. “Look at you all sticky and messy,” and he is, smeared with lube and come dribbling out of his arse. Eames pets it tenderly and leans forward to place a kiss on the rosy pucker of his skin. “It looks so abused, darling, I can’t believe you let me do this to you. And yet you keep coming back. Does it hurt?”

Arthur smiles, his cheek resting on his hands. “No worse than ever. Anyway, you love this.”

Eames just huffs out a breath that’s part acknowledgement, part self-deprecating laugh. The truth is he loses himself in Arthur. He gets carried away in the moment sometimes and fucks him hard, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist or gripping his hips and just drives into him, drunk on Arthur’s grunts and muttered curses mingled with Eames’s own name. And he loves this part, taking care of him afterwards. He enjoys lovingly cleaning Arthur’s skin, stroking him and brushing the hair out of his eyes. And now this. He gets to see the unholy mess he makes when he spills himself in Arthur. He gets to know that he did that, and gets to tenderly lick him clean.

The smell is heady, salty come with a faint hint of bleach, the subtle tang of supposedly-unscented lube, the musky scent that is all Arthur, worked up during the sweaty, frantic, crawling-inside-each-other fuck session from an unidentifiable length of time ago. But in this moment, Eames has lost the clawing need in the pit of his stomach; he just feels a deep, abiding satisfaction in wrapping himself in Arthur’s scents, in tasting the mingling of the two of them, in soothing the tenderest part of Arthur that has to bear the brunt of Eames’s relentless thrusts. This is Arthur at his most open and vulnerable and Eames wants to hold him here, spread him open and keep this for himself. He wants to take care of it like the treasure it is. It’s ridiculous and too poetic by half but Eames feels like he could write odes to Arthur’s arse. He’s glad his mouth is otherwise occupied because he’ be embarrassing himself and Arthur would be rolling his eyes at him for sure. But his mouth _is_ occupied and it’s pulling sleepy, lazy groans out of Arthur as he adjusts himself to make his growing erection more comfortable.

Eames chases the taste of his come up inside, licking his tongue ever deeper up into Arthur’s loose and relaxed ring of muscle. It’s almost all gone, only a tiny dribble coming out so Eames latches his lips on and gently sucks, tip of his tongue licking just into the rim of his entrance to catch what comes out and Arthur keens, an drawn-out animal sound, arching his back to maximize Eames’s access.

“You’re insatiable, Arthur. Look at you, hard already,” Eames murmurs before wiping his mouth and placing a peck on Arthur’s plump left cheek. He moves off and nudges Arthur into turning over, shifting him upwards so he’s sitting semi-reclined against the pillows. “You’re so clever, I sometimes forget that you’re seventeen and the short refractory period that entails.”

“Pff. You never forget my age; you remind me often enough.” Arthur is probably aiming for irritable, but Eames knows Arthur will always fail at that when he’s post-coital. And in any case whatever animosity Arthur may hold melts away when Eames settles himself down at cock-level and begins a lazy, playful, teasing blowjob.

It’s probably only been about 15 or 20 minutes since Arthur came with Eames’s cock buried inside him, so he’s not fully hard yet, but almost. Eames had already wiped Arthur’s belly clean but can still taste the residual come on him. Settled between Arthur’s legs, he likes to play, to treat Arthur’s prick like his own personal toy, which he supposes it is, at least at moments like these. He kisses it and reaches out his tongue only just enough for teasing little licks, lifting it up off Arthur’s belly and petting the smooth skin with one gentle finger. He nuzzles it with his nose and kisses up the shaft, licks Arthur’s testicles and suckles softly at every bit of skin available to him. Blowjobs are all well and good when he latches on and sucks it down, when there’s an urgency and frantic thrusting and needful eruptions of come. But sometimes this is nicer, when he can take his time and he can tease Arthur slowly back to raging hardness by degrees.

By the time he’s jacking Arthur with a firm grip alternating with taking his whole length in with deepthroated strokes and applying suction and curling strokes of his tongue, Arthur is pressing his head back against the headboard and gripping Eames’s hair, mouth slack with pleasure and a frown of concentration settling between his brows. When Eames feels the familiar building of pressure, he jacks his hand with purpose, sucking the head in anticipation of the pulsing bursts he knows are coming. When it does, he pays attention, as he always does, to the subtle variations in the taste and texture. This time it’s thin, watery, salty and sprays throughout his mouth with a satisfying pressure.

When Arthur is completely spent and Eames has licked him clean he moves up beside him, props himself up on one elbow and drapes a heavy arm over Arthur’s waist. They lie there for long minutes in comfortable silence.

“When you’re quite recovered, I’d love to take you into the shower and clean you up properly,” he says.

“Can’t. I have to get home; mom’s home tonight. She thinks I’m at Yusuf’s and I’m not sure I have a good excuse for walking in with freshly washed hair when I’m supposed have been studying.”

Eames’s stomach clenches. For all Arthur’s eager to throw himself into this thing they have, there’s no getting around this part. It reminds Eames that as scary as a relationship is in normal circumstances, it’s probably a Very Bad Idea to play with Arthur’s life like this.

He pushes the thought aside and replies with a lightness he doesn’t feel, “Of course, darling.” He kisses Arthur’s shoulder. “Are you still able to arrange to stay over again this weekend? There’s something I’d like to do with you.”

“What did you have in mind?” Arthur asks, trying for suspicious but is betrayed by the interested glint in his eye.

“Now, now. I want to keep some surprises; you’re just going to have to trust me.”

***

#### Friday/Saturday

Arthur comes awake slowly, awareness fuzzing into his senses one at a time. The first thing he’s aware of is warmth, total, enveloping warmth, the hint of dampness of heavy covers and skin touching skin. And then he’s aware of the hand on his side, thick and heavy, curving around his waist and petting up and down. And then the breath on his ear whispering, “Arthur. Wake up, sweetheart, it’s time.”

“Muh...” he says, still piecing it together. It’s then that he feels the fullness in his arse as the plug is tugged gently, not enough to remove it, barely enough to widen his entrance, really. Just enough to remind him of its presence . He lets out a pleased sort of moan as he remembers.

***

Eames looms over him and Arthur’s ankles rest on those broad shoulders. Eames fucks him slowly and steadily, angled just so and Arthur is becoming mindless, head back and eyes closed muttering, “Please. Please. Nnng, fuck. Please, fuck me,” which makes no sense when Eames is already doing so but it doesn’t matter.

Eames turns his head and kisses Arthur’s ankle, thrusting in a steady rhythm, long slides that take him almost all the way out and back in, bottoming out. “Christ, darling, how are you so beautiful? I want you all the time. I want to fuck you every day of your life. I want to keep you here and have you whenever I want. Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to fill you up and keep it in you. Keep you open and ready for me to fuck you again. Will you let me do that?”

Arthur listens, he really does, when Eames lets loose a litany of endearments and filthy words, but sometimes they wash over him and it doesn’t occur to him for a minute that he’s been asked a question.

“Arthur. Darling.” Every couple of words is punctuated with a press of hips against his arse. “Will you let me plug you up after I’ve come in you?”

  


This time Arthur hears the question and it seems ridiculous that Eames would even ask. Whatever it is Arthur will almost always say yes. At seventeen he considers himself to have won the fucking lottery to find someone willing to show him around this sexual playground he’s discovering, someone who’ll indulge whatever he asks for. So, “Yes. Fuck. Yes just fuck me, Eames. Christ,” he grits out between thrusts.

When the talking falls away and the thrusts become hard and erratic, Eames gathers him up in a bundle in his arms, gripping him so tightly it’s hard to breathe, Eames’s cock spasms deep in his arse and Arthur can feel the spreading warmth of it. It’s then that Eames opens his bedside drawer and pulls out the plug, a plain black thing narrow at the tip, slightly fatter than Eames at its widest point. Eames has Arthur hold his knees up to his chest while he eases it in, running his finger around the edge of it after it has slid home. He licks his lips and smiles down at it, head tilted.

“There you go, darling. I can’t be in you every minute of the day, but this way you’ll be ready for me. You’ll be open and wet and all I’ll have to do is pull it out and fuck you all over again, fill you up with even more come until you’re dripping and messy with it.” He taps the flat base with a gentle forefinger, satisfying himself of its security, like checking the lock on his possessions, like hitting the pause button for him to return to and pick up where he left off.

Arthur lets his eyes slip closed, tired already from having come twice. He lets a smile twitch the corners of his mouth up, because he knows that Eames like the encouragement. He puts his legs down and when Eames lays down beside him he turns onto his side and snuggles backwards to spoon. He’s barely aware of the warm damp cloth cleaning his front as he drifts off to sleep.

***

And now Eames’s lips are on his neck, his strong blunt fingers are feeling around the edges of the plug, under the lip of it and he can feel Eames’s fat hard cock poking the crease between his cheek and his thigh.

“What time is it, Eames? I thought you were going to fuck me in the morning. It’s still dark.”

“1:30, love. We can wait until morning if you like. But as you can feel,” he pushes the head of his cock into the soft flesh of Arthur’s arse to illustrate his point, “I was rather hoping you’d be up for another tumble.” He grazes his lips against the skin of Arthur’s neck and dips his head in to lick up the curve of his ear.

Arthur feels a shiver up his whole body at the radiating desire at his back.

\--Not The End (but this is all that's being written, sorry)-- 


End file.
